Tag: tears

Just for the record, I love cupcakes. Moist, delectable cupcakes with frosting. Lots of frosting.

And I can’t eat them now without a physical reaction. My gut clenches and tears find their way to my eyes. Oh, I still eat them and enjoy them, but I can’t have one without remembering that day. The day my friend took his life.

I walked into the student center where I work after calling Mark to find out where he was. No answer. Not unusual, he often didn’t hear his phone or got tied up with work. He’d meet me in the pub later like he always did, I assumed.

Down the stairs into the main corridor, and met one of the dining employees. She had a tray of cupcakes in her hands.

“Those look scrumptious.” And knowing the college’s dining service, I knew they would be.

“Want one? They are leftover from a meeting. We were trying them out.”

Tell me, who passes up a free cupcake that looked like chocolate heaven? Not I. So I walked into the pub, cupcake in hand, and filtered lots of greedy looks and comments to abscond with the treasure in my hands. I ordered food, then found a table and texted Mark. Hey, Mark, just checking on you to make sure you are alive. The amount of horror I feel at that choice of words now is superseded only by the fucking cupcake.

I ate my lunch, chatting with coworkers that stopped by, inquiring why I was dining alone. We joked that I got stood up by my work spouse.

And then I ate that cupcake. It was delicious. Everything perfect a cupcake could be. I was close to licking the frosting off of the paper, it was that good.

All the while my dear friend’s body was getting colder. All the while a small amount of blood dripped down from where the bullet had entered his skull. All the while the gun had dropped to the floor after the shot rang out.

My friend was dead. And I was indulging. The two items are not related, I know this. Yet they will be forever linked in my mind.

The kind, sweet soul that he was would tell me that of course I should eat the cupcake. That I should always eat the cupcake.

I will, Mark. I promise. I just wish you were here to share it with me.

Grief sneaks up in unexpected moments. Yes, it’s full and present during the obvious times of shock, and wakes and funerals. Where it truly lives though is after the flowers have wilted and the food storage containers are back to their owners, and friends have stopped calling every single day to make sure you’re okay. It’s then, in those quiet moments, that grief settles in.

It’s not the loud, tear filled grief from before. It’s the quiet grip that shows up unexpectedly, while waking or running an errand, or reading a passage that hits just the right chord. In those moments grief wraps around your heart and lungs, where tears may only flow silently, where the pain is at its most real. For a moment it’s hard to think about continuing whatever task is laid out before you, because you can’t see anymore through the pain.

It does ease, that despair, that clutch of grief, because your loved ones that have gone on want to know you will move forward. They still support your dreams and goals and life even more from beyond the grave.

Honor them by living the life that they couldn’t, the one that was cut short for whatever reason. Live fully and love without reservation.

I gathered each tear off my cheeks
Tasted bitterness
Despair
Heartache
Swallowed them
Felt as they burned down my core
Woven into essence
Sifting in my heart and body
Unrelenting
Grasping in the shadows
Til hope becomes no more
Crying out for light
For peace
For a moment’s rest
Finding none

Sifting through a pool of black tears
From the waterfall within
A flutter flash of light
A single note of joy
An echo of serenity

The tears recede
Easing their pain
Softening the droplet edges
A comforting caress
Sliding over skin like a kiss
Through the darkest times
There is hope